Work Text:
Hongjoong's mind was, on more than the vast majority of a normal day, a chaotic mess. Appointments he had to keep in mind, ideas for unfinished songs that were slowly rotting away in their respective files on his laptop, many, many thoughts that should be converted into beautiful lyrics, instead of just being mere thoughts for a few seconds in his life and occasionally a certain subject he'd have to bring up at the next company meeting.
With all these things occupying his mind and making themselves a cozy home up there, it wasn't too much of a suprise when the man found himself wondering what exactly he had planned for the upcoming day, prompting the urge to start making to-do lists (and unironically glue them onto his forehead, as Seonghwa had suggested, so he wouldn't dare to forget about them.)
He didn't exactly take the advice and glued them right on his forehead, but he did use all of the other free spaces he had. His laptop case, the walls inside his studio, the mirror in his studio, the few free pockets in the black leather bag that he had gotten from Yunho on his last birthday. Everywhere, really. Besides, it made everything a bit more lively looking anyway, so where was the harm in it, really?
Oh, how Hongjoong wished he was in his studio right now. His very own studio with his very own equipment and a free and quiet space to sink into, to let his thoughts wander, drawing and writing them down onto blank papers that had already gotten folded at least three times, making them look all wrinkly and ugly.
Maybe the view out of his studio in Seoul wouldn't be quite as nice as the one he was having from his hotel room in Paris right now, but it would certainly feel more like home.
It was a conversation Jongho and Hongjoong had a few years ago, on their first tour as a group. A stop for a concert in Amsterdam, the room he slept in alone a rather small but cozy one with a balcony that was accessible through a wooden door in the room. There, they had talked about it. Being away from home, being so far away from Seoul, what the future might hold for them and what they might have had to sacrifice to be where they were today. Back then, Hongjoong had calmly stated that he didn't like the feeling of being so far away from home. He hadn't been sure if he was allowed to admit it, being the Captain and being the one who should keep the composure and keep up an act, but in the quiet of the moment, it must have slipped out.
Jongho had reassured him that the feeling will pass in the upcoming years, as Hongjoong would get more used to the idea of traveling around the globe, seeing more places in a shorter amount of time than his brain was made for and could possibly handle. Quite frankly, however, Hongjoong still hadn't gotten used to the feeling of it. Almost five years into their career and he still found himself going to sleep in each hotel room with a slightly heavy heart. Rampant thoughts of what might be happening back home. What was the weather like? Was it raining again the entire day? What about that old lesbian couple that lived in the building next to the KQ building, the ones that always let Hongjoong pet their cat?
Hongjoong almost couldn't imagine how quiet their dorm back home currently must be. No loud talking or laughing, no frustrated complaining about a lost round of Overwatch, no banging against walls for the others to finally shut up, no smell of pancakes at the ungodly hour of 2 AM. Instead, everyone was pushed into their own rooms in this hotel, creating a small barrier between everyone, despite all eight rooms being on the same floor of the building.
The barrier in question were the walls between the rooms.
Maybe it was silly, foolish and just the tiniest bit idiotic too, but Hongjoong always carried the fear of missing out on something around. He knew he couldn't be everywhere all at once, that's simply not what humans were made for, but he just couldn't help but wish that humans were made for it.
So, with that mindset and a hundred thousand others and a few more squeezed in thoughts living in his brain, it was quite literally a blessing to have Seonghwa in his life. Seonghwa who always seemed to do more than necessary. Seonghwa who offered to help Hongjoong in the studio, despite knowing absolutely nothing about music production in itself. Seonghwa who always took a whole load of work and stress off Hongjoong's shoulders, as if it was absolutely nothing. As if it was completely normal.
As if Hongjoong didn't want to wrap the man up in a soft and never ending kiss alone, just for that.
Kisses. Yeah. Hongjoong couldn't keep his eyes off Seonghwa's full, red lips, the cherry-flavored lipbalm gently being smeared on them. It left a faint tint of red on his lips, putting them on display even more.
Seonghwa's lips were the kind of lips poets would loose their mind about. Poets scrambling around in the deepest pits of their complex brains for words to describe them, words that no normal human understood without researching those in a dictionary from the 1950s.
But for Hongjoong, it didn't have to be all that complicated. Despite him having quite the knack for writing lyrics, a process that required a few specific related braincells that always came up with poem-like sentences, he wasn't exactly the cheesiest type of person.
"Thinking about tomorrow again?"
Hongjoong's head snapped back up and only then did he notice that Seonghwa seemed to look at him, his eyes intently roaming around on his face. It was the usual predicament again. Hongjoong's irrational fear of the next day, letting the current one slip out of his hands like jelly, feeling like he hadn't spent it well enough. Hadn't done the things he should have done. Hadn't used it efficiently enough. Had wasted yet another day, doing nothing at all. Nothing that mattered, at least.
Seonghwa was well aware of it, aware that it was one of the reasons why Hongjoong usually spent more time than necessary on his work, more so than the actual desire to finish the songs that he had a clear deadline for. Maybe it was a tad bit selfish, but he knew better than to judge Hongjoong for it.
It was the reason why Seonghwa was in Hongjoong's room in the first place. His small black bucket bag having been thrown next to Hongjoong's luggage, the Kuromi keychain dangling down at the side of the bag and her tiny feet almost reaching the ground of the hotel floor.
"Don't overthink it, Joong. You don't need to worry about things you can't change."
Don't worry about time, because you won't be able to stop it from moving forward, anyway.
He knew that this was what Seonghwa originally wanted to say. Hongjoong extended his hand, his fingers finding the oily surface of the fries in it's cheap paper packaging. He took a few seconds to look at it, before eventually taking a careful bite out of it. A very much deserved one. All the worrying, all the work, all the screaming and rapping at the concert earlier. It had all drained his energy immensely, in a way that he still hadn't quite learned to handle. Just like so many other things.
His groupmate looked at least a tad bit exhausted as well, Seonghwa's eyes being slightly half-lidded as he stared ahead. A typical sign that he hadn't slept much the night before. Reprimanding him for it would've been utterly stupid, Hongjoong thought. He was absolutely no stranger to sleepless nights. Hell, sleepless nights and him were practically best friends by now. So much that it had started taking a toll on him.
And yet, he couldn't find himself to care. Not in the same way Seonghwa waltzed into his studio when he had the time, bringing his and Hongjoong's favorite ice cream flavour from the nearest Seven Eleven, talking about everything that plagued their little world.
-
When Hongjoong had still been a young little man, barely reaching his mom's waist due to his height, he had always muttered words about how he would be an artist someday. Making art that went around the entire world, from Asia to all the other continents and back. Art that would make people fall into a wonder-like trance, one that would leave them purely stunned. Sure, little Hongjoong hadn't been able to put it fully into words, his mom laughing outloud whenever the boy on her lap made dramatic expressions, trying to mimic the reactions of people. And even if the chaos he produced by acting as a cashier when he used the wooden toy shop, the wooden milk packages strewn all over the carpet couldn't exactly been described as art..
Hongjoong's mom had never doubted that the boy wouldn't keep his words.
His lips finding the straw of the reusable cup in his hand, Hongjoong couldn’t help but to take a big gulp, the sweetness of his drink washing away any sour taste he had left in his mouth.
Maybe today wasn’t the best night to wander the streets like a lone man, but perhaps it also wasn’t the best night to keep overthinking things as if his life depended on it. The streets of Paris were empty and quiet at this particular hour, only the occasional noises of the wind interrupting the almost perpetual silence that stretched all over the city. It would surely be different on a Saturday evening: bustling streets, inebriated people getting involved in rather imbecilic fights, suspiciously beautiful women leaning seductively against damaged street poles in the dim light, trying to grab their victim for tonight’s night.
Hongjoong was glad that it wasn’t a Saturday night.
Tonight, he was able to witness the pleasure of his own head being too tired. Too tired to indulge in a never ending negative thought process, too tired to even think at all. Really, the only thing that seemed to consistently swirl around in his head were Seonghwa’s words earlier. Or, well, more like, Seonghwa himself.
He hadn’t ever considered himself to be in love with the man. Finding the time to actively think about your own feelings towards the people you saw as an inherent part of your life had long slid down his to-do list. If it had ever been on the list in the first place, that is. At least when it came to Seonghwa.
But it had always been exactly that: Seonghwa. Rules and restrictions didn’t apply when it came to Seonghwa’s presence in Hongjoong’s life. Structures made no sense, fell apart. Because just when Hongjoong thought he’d know every nook and cranny of Seonghwa’s mind, reading his thoughts off his face, he got hit with something that he hadn’t ever known or felt before. It wasn’t a relationship per se, the two of them knew better than to label it as one, knowing the amount of complications that would occur with such labels, but oftentimes it did exactly feel like a relationship.
Not in the traditional sense: no overly sweets compliments being thrown at each other, no being all over each other in the dead of the night, no obvious loving gazes. None of that but rather the opposite. The opposite in all of these. Quiet trust and care being exchanged in the form of checking up on one another, Hongjoong’s hand finding the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth to gently remove some of the red lipstick that had been accidentally smeared. Solace and comfort in finding yourself in each other’s arms after a particularly hard week, the expectations crashing down on the both of them. More often on Hongjoong than on Seonghwa. Hongjoong knew that Seonghwa was simply better at repressing his own issues until they boiled over, causing a massive mess.
And maybe that was okay. Maybe they weren’t meant to understand it all, to knew how to handle it all; maybe all they were meant to understand is each other and each other only.
If it hadn’t been for a message of Seonghwa coming in and lighting his phone up with it’s notification, then Hongjoong would’ve turned around and kept walking, his gaze wandering along the littered and abandoned streets. Trying to find contentment in the smallest hint of things. But, he didn’t.
Tonight, once again, he would find his contentment in Seonghwa’s mere presence.